The Right Hand Man
by RangerLyra
Summary: Watson decides the it is time for his friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, to experience the social life of an average Londoner. Holmes arrives with grudging consent to Watson's club 'The Red Lion'. Though they expected little that there would be a case waiting for them there. A certain case concerning a stolen cash tin. Rated K-plus for the setting taking place in a bar.
1. Chapter 1

**I really like short cases that are less than 5000 words, so I thought I'd write one. Reviews would be great. Hope you enjoy the first chapter in which Holmes goes to the club.**

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I realised, one day, with some incredulity, that the friendship between the well-known detective Sherlock Holmes and I derived only from solving crimes which to us seemed more like a past time rather than a real occupation. Recalling the mind all the times we have been together, I dare say 70 percent was spent in pursuit of answers to some mystifying case. The other 20 was spent on rainy, dark nights, where Holmes and I would sit by the fireplace humming our favourite songs. The remaining 10 was spent eating at the breakfast table or such where Holmes would eat for the true necessity of it, and regarded it as an inconvenience that bored the mind. The little things that fitted the rest of the fraction of a percentage was going to concerts to the delight of my friend who would wave a long finger as if conducting to the music and it was to my dismay as I was doomed to spend a fidgety hour where clapping was my only participation.

These deductions lead me to another rather down casting conclusion of the limits of Sherlock Holmes. It came to me, that the general knowledge of Holmes is as narrow as a schoolboy. As brilliant a mind as he may have, his interests are rarely focused on anything other than cases to satisfy his mind. If one were to ask him of the date of the fall of Rome, then I have no doubt he would not be able to answer. Though he is at the peak of his profession.

Sherlock Holmes' brain, is only consisted of information and facts he finds useful. For example, one would find, brands of perform matching to their smells and one would certainly not find, facts of ancient history as basic as they may be. It was on a rather drab morning that I suggested at the breakfast table of some more social activity than he would normally allow.

"Well, Holmes." I asked over the newspaper. "What do you make of it?"

"That is usually what you ask me after the telling of a new case." He replied dryly. I could see he was not exactly jumping for joy and the idea.

"Not this time, you need to get out more. The last time ventured past the newspaper boy across from the street was almost a month ago."

"My dear fellow, I've told you that I do not go out for cases that only have a six or lower level of perplexity, and the recent cases have been rather predictable."

"Well, they were to you, I was clueless."

"You see, you just don't observe."

I delivered my offer once again, "But Holmes, are you coming to my club or shall I go alone as the lonely doctor with no company."

"Oh, alright, Watson, you have my consent."

* * *

I changed into my dinner jacket, soon after a shadow like a veil drifted over London. It was well past six, a good time as any to be heading down to the club. I was ripe with anticipation to introduce the daily activity of the average Londoner to my most unrelatable friend. At the doorstep I ventured enough to disturb the work of Holmes with a shout to inform my absence of my presence.

"Holmes? Are you there? " No answer. "Holmes, would you mind so much to come up the stairs?"

A muffled voice sounded from the basement. "Watson, this is quite inconvenient. I'm in the middle of something."

"You will be there at the club later, will you? Holmes? Answer me, will you?"

"Yes, yes." Came a rushed reply. "You head along first."

I took my duffle coat off of the coat stand and pull it over my dinner jacket. Briskly stepping into the street, I turned my coat collar up as a shield against the wind.

My feet carried me over streets and stopped in front of a rather grand front door which atop sat a wooden sign that read "The Red Lion's" I had come the previous night and stepped into the warmth the club offered.

Larry stood behind the counter and nodded at my arrival. A few men I did not recognize sat in a far corner, two men in their old age played chess on glasses of brandy. I naturally thought it was a bit strong for two old men. More members sat scattered and blended into the background. I strode across to the bar and ordered a gin.

The wait for Holmes was anything but short and eventful as I waited, consuming drinks until Larry started ask if I needed the lavatories. I ventured towards a few chess matches but found no entertainment there.

On my fifth glass, I finally heard the familiar voice of Holmes, "Had enough yet?"

I turned around and spotted a dishevelled Holmes with unruly hair and a ruffled dinner jacket.

"Where've you been?" I complained.

"On a tedious and infuriating tour around London to look for this." He waved an arm across the room.

"To find one of the most well known clubs in London." I said skeptically, "Really Holmes, you only had to ask someone, anyone."

"Dear Watson, I was sure to find it myself. I'm here, am I not?"

"After an hour." I grumbled "Sometimes, Holmes, you can be quite resourceful, but other times," I trailed off my sentence.

"Anyhow, Watson, my deductions tell me that you are not pleased by my tardiness so I promise my dear fellow, that I will make it up to you by staying at the club with you till your departure."

"That is thoughtful, Holmes, but I do not intend to leave until you expand your very limited coterie of mostly members of Scotland."

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 **Sorry if the Sherlock Holmes in this story sounds more conceited than in Canon Doyle's stories. But watching Sherlock... I'll try to make him less arrogant in the next chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2

Holmes and I sat at a table with the presence of a lawyer, so whom introduced himself as, a short professor with glasses and an actor who most proudly told us, starred in Richard III at the globe theatre last month.

We listened to Holmes go on about his methods and informing us, most passionately, about the characteristics that can be determined by studying one's handwriting.

Of the four of us, only the professor seemed the slightest bit interested after the hour long summary of cryptography followed by the above.

The actor performed a most marvellous show of concealing his boredom with momentary nods and assents. The lawyer forced himself to listen out of courtesy, which I could tell by the faraway gaze in his eyes and he processed the information and forgot about it the second after.

This, I am sure Holmes noticed, but to him, this was a mere bother, as he mostly spoke to himself, no doubt to review his own methods. As he does this while thinking on cases. To him, I served only the purpose of someone to speak his thoughts to.

It was at midnight when the final member of our party of listeners departed save Holmes and I, naturally. There were less people around than before and the excitement that this club offers, dimmed down with it.

We sat by a fireplace contemplating to night.

"I could not say that I took much pleasure in this social life of yours, Watson." Holmes said dryly.

"Nor could I." I agreed.

"What say you we go home and bid each other a good night, Watson, I've got a case to sleep on."

"I could not agree more."

We rose from our selective seats and prepared ourselves well for the cold night air. As we headed towards the double door a hurried and gruff voice called to us, "Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes!"

Holmes and I turned towards the voice residing from we saw, a man in evening dress who appeared somewhat unfitting in his costume. His belly bulged beneath the white shirt and his trousers barely touched the back of his ankles. A dark tangled beard covered a distraught face. He gestured with a mighty palm for us to near.

"What happens to be the matter, my man?" I questioned as I was slightly perturbed and annoyed at the further disturbance retraining us from leaving.

"Please, which one of ye is Mr. Sherlock 'olmes."

Holmes stepped forward to great to stout man. "And whom do I have the pleasure of making an acquaintance."

"The name's Thompson, Bill Thompson. And yer the legendary Mr. Holmes."

"The very man." Holmes said delightfully, taking satisfaction in the complement.

"Tell me, sir, are the stories of yer remarkable deduction and observation expertise true?" He inquired.

"Well, sir, I can deduct that you are from a Scottish family, but grew up in London with mainly older sisters which whom you are in a feud with either that or you no longer have contact with them. You left home at a young age and travelled as a pickpocket across London, then settled by the coast and learnt fishing to make a living. After a few years, you came back to London and opened this club. Though at first, the club was successful but after two years, the profit declined to the barest minimum to stay opened, but the club started becoming more and more popular each year until it became one of the most well-known clubs in London as my dear friend here states. That, sir, is all I can deduct right this moment of you, wether I have met your expectations of remarkable deduction and observation, I will leave for you to decide."

"By Jove, that is marvellous." Bill Thompson stuttered.

"My dear Holmes, you never cease to surprise me. Tell me, man, what are the observations that led you to these deductions?"

"My dear fellow, I am merely stating the obvious from what clues there are. But for your curiosity and Mr. Thompson here's, I will make clear of."

"Do,do." Thompson said eagerly.

"First, the matter of your origin. A London accent, clearly, you grew up in the city, but yet the habits of a scotsman remains. There upon the countertop, a half empty bottle of scotch whiskey. Among closer thought, I noticed how you roll your 'r's slightly in your speech. You were plainly surrounded by girls in your young age, for I noticed the embroidery upon napkins with the initials B.T. There were no female staff around thus I deducted that you have older sisters who taught you their talents. That was more of a hazard as it could be any tailor who sewed it on. I see you have not contradicted me so far, and I will continue. You are in a feud or no longer in contact with them because I know that there has not been a lady in this club for some while because of the dull shine on the men's lavatories door knob, yet the ladies remained spotless without a print as I observed on my trip to the facilities earlier on. I also know that if your sisters lived far away, that they would send letters lest they are out of contact or refused to. I observe that there is a bedroom upstairs of which you reside. So then the post to you would be put through the mailbox of the club. Yet I have seen that your mailbox is rusty and the hinges are broken in a fashion of which it is impossible to put through mail. There is my explanation for that and moving on the the point where you left home. I risked a guess that it was a young age of when you left home. But I know that you became a pickpocket but the movement of your hands. No doubt you are agitated, for you roll a coin across the palm of your hand by the movement of your fingers. A common pickpocket technique I studied. I know that you have done or enjoyed fishing by looking at the menu. Ten fish dishes told me that was well over the average amount of fish a club would serve. As for the successes and falls of the club, that point is simple. I deduced it from the staff pictures taken every year by the front door. The first photograph dates back to 1875 where there is you and another. In the next five, there is an increase of staff to the point where there stands eight men in the photograph, the staff starts to decline where there is a year missing, no doubt, you saw no reason as the club was coming to an end. Then in the next picture, two more men appear. The increase of staff comes to the most recent photograph with ten staff excluding you. There I bring to the conclusion of my explanation."

"Why, that is brilliant, Mr. 'olmes. Everything precisely correct. Your deductions stun me. Perhaps now, with proof of yer unerring skill, would you use it to solve my problem of late."

"By all means, sir." Holmes replied. "Leave nothing out."

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 **Sorry the explanation is a bit long. Got bored?**


	3. Chapter 3

We sat by the counter over a bottle of scotch whiskey. The gruff scotsman began his tale.

"You see, Mr. Holmes, it was last day, me an' the three friends who work here were celebrating the club's 20th anniversary. The other staff had left and we 'ere laughing over jest after jest. Eventually, I took out the cash tin where I stored the club's earnings. All the income went into that tin, the size of large can of tomato soup. It was an odd tradition the club had, but a tradition nonetheless. Well, I took the tin out the show the load we had, then soon after put it back in the back room, by the register. We were all quite drunk at the time so we chatted for a quarter of an hour more than went into the back room the sign a form that many their employment for next month official. So drunk we were that we struggled to find a pen and we stumbled 'round the bars and tables. We found one eventually and the three men signed the form. Bidding each other a good night, they left and after locking up, I sat slumped on a seat in the back room and feel asleep there and then. I woke up next morning with a splitting head-ache. Stumbling towards the schedule hung by the desk, I noticed something missing. I had always kept my desk unorganized, Mr. Holmes, but I always knew where everything was. It was then that I realised with expanding horror, that the missing object appeared to be the cash tin. First, I though that maybe by some chance, that I had mislaid it somewhere. After an hour, I gave up looking. I ran by the three men, but they had no idea where it could, or said they had. That is all, Mr. Holmes, I apologize it there ain't enough detail. But as I said, I was very drunk indeed."

Holmes was silent for just a moment, he stood up suddenly, "Do not apologize, Mr. Thompson, this case might prove very simple. May I see the back room?"

Mr. Thompson lead us behind the bar and into a door marked 'staff only'. Upon entering, we saw, to the left to mentioned desk covered with papers and a folder titled register. Across the room was a door no doubt stairs leading to the bedroom, there was a board with the latest notices on the right wall and to the far corners, armchairs for the staff. A coat rack stood by the armchair in the right corner.

Holmes strode around the room and over to the desk. He flipped open the register. I saw his face change instantly to an expression of delight and interest.

"What is it, Holmes? Pray tell us." I rushed towards the desk. He payed me no notice but instead turned towards Thompson.

"Mr. Thompson, who is this 'Stanley Adams'? An educated man?"

"Quite."

"Is this his handwriting?"

"Yes."

"Hmm, this is most intriguing. Left-handed?"

"I believe so. But I can't say I'm sure."

"Yes, normally I would ask for the characteristics of your friends, but I trust that I have solved your little problem."

"Really, Holmes, you tend to leave us in the dark, care to enlighten us?" I said to him.

Holmes lead us out into the club, and we saw the members had dwindled by much. A table of solemn men still sat in the dim light.

We sat around a table with a chess set on top and Holmes began his report.

"First of all, I'm sure you will agree, that the prime suspects are the three men. And I'm afraid that this particular case is not one that would make a great example to my method of deductions. But I narrowed down the period of time the cash could be stolen to after Mr. Thompson checked the tin to the time Mr. Thompson locked the doors if indeed they were locked and no one else was in the building but Mr. Thompson himself. While Mr. Thompson retold his tale, a short period of time caught my interest. At the time where they were looking for the pen outside the office. The thief could have only stolen the cash tin at that moment. There was nothing more to be deducted by that, therefore, I visited the back office and find the key in the register. The first name scribbled almost illegibly read 'Stanley Adams'. His hand writing was indeed quite disarranged. I thought this might be resulting to his drunk state but even the other printed names were clear. He might be an uneducated man, that thought had come to pass but you answered no. I studied it closer and noticed that it was written by a right hand. Not just any right hand, it was written by the right hand of a left handed man. I had many reasons why a left handed man who resort to using his right hand to write. The reasons lie in two main branches, first he is not capable of using his left hand, second he does not want the signature to be official since it is not counted if the signature is not by the owner's dominant hand. An example to the first, if he was to be hiding something under his dominant hand's sleeve, for example a tin which would fall out on the removal of the hand, the man would use his other hand as he cannot switch hands without the tin being spotted."

Mr. Thompson jumped out of his seat, startling the men at the other table.

"My word, Mr. Holmes! And then the second reason implies also, he will not have to come to work here again."

Holmes nodded gravely.

"I cannot believe this, Adams, my right hand man."

"Your left-handed man." Holmes corrected.

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 **THE END**

 **Reviews please!**

 **If you didn't get the ending, basically the man wrote with his right hand because he was holding the cash tin in his left hand's sleeve and also because the signature wouldn't be official his not signed with his dominant hand. So he would be able to escape with the money and not have to come back to work again.**

 **Watson: Umm, Holmes? How did you figure out he was a left handed man writing with his right hand?**

 **Holmes: SIGH, if you had been listening to me earlier that night when I lectured about cryptology.**

 **Watson: Right...**


End file.
